Verdigris
by AbominableSnowshoe
Summary: "And since folks here to an absurd degree seem fixated on your verdigris, would it be all right by you if I de-greenified you?"


Disclaimer: I own neither Elphaba, the music from Wicked, or any of the Marvel characters.

That damn pineapple-anchovy monstrosity has been stinking up the back of the car for the last 30 blocks, so Jason's glad when he finally gets down far enough in his queue to deliver it. It's bad enough his car permanently smells like cheese and questionable meat products, but this thing is just foul. The address is in one of the shabbier neighborhoods, but Jason's not worried. He's delivered down here plenty of times and only got robbed once. He's never had any real trouble.

The apartment complex looks near abandoned, but there's a light shining through the windows and the address is clearly visible, so Jason figures, whatever. As long as they pay for their pizza he doesn't care. He's probably not going to get a tip for this one. Shit.

As he approaches the door he realizes there's noise emanating from the house. Not the best place to have a party. God he hopes it's not some sort of domestic abuse thing going on in there. Last time the cops had made him stay for questioning and the pizzas had got cold and his boss was pissed. As he reaches the porch he realizes its…singing? Ok. Weirdo theater people, maybe. As long as they don't try to sing for their supper he's cool.

-Until the chick singing hits a high note and he recognizes the song. That's Wicked. His little sister's been obsessed with it for months. He'd recognize the last few bars of Defying Gravity anywhere by now.

He rings the doorbell while the last few notes fade away and "The Wizard and I" starts up. He taps his foot along to the beat. He peers into the window. These people are taking forever. He has pizzas to deliver, here. He can't wait all night.

He only notices the figure lying on the couch when it lifts an arm, fingers wrapped tight around a large silver spoon, and starts conducting the stereo. He can just see the outline of spiky hair above the armrest in the gloom, the bad florescent light giving everything a yellow tinge. The figure- a dude, he guesses- is facing away from him, covered in a fleece blanket with two socked feet poking out the other end. They're tapping to the beat. The hand comes down and roots around on the ground, coming back into view clutching a large carton of ice cream

"And since folks here to an absurd degree, seem fixated on your verdigris," the figure sings, stopping when he gets distracted by scraping the last bits of the treat from the depths of the bucket.

Oh great. He's got some sort of depressed theater nerd on his hands and he's got fifteen more pizzas to deliver, end of shift or not.

"Yo, Elphaba!" Jason yells. "Pizza's here!"

The fucker fucking flips over the back of the couch and goes into a fighting crouch. Ok, a depressed theater nerd who does kung fu and likes pineapple and anchovy pizza? Why does he always have to deliver to the crazies? He waves through the window and the guy scowls a him before striding over to the door and throwing it open and that's when Jason realizes, it isn't the light, the fucker's _green_.

"What you want?" the man demands in some sort of strange English accent. He's rather shorter standing up than Jason expected.

"P-pizza," Jason stammers. Dimly, realizes that this isn't the Broadway Cast Recording, this is Eden, not Idina. You can tell by the different bit she does on 'thing I never felt' bit. He feels like he should say something else in light of the situation.

"Dude. You're green."

The man's face screws up in a rage. It's the last thing Jason ever sees.

* * *

><p>Toad looks down at the crumpled body before him.<p>

"I didn't order any pizza," he says.

He picks the box up and opens the cover. Cheesy pineapple anchovy goodness wafts out at him.

"Hmmm…."

He picks it up and stuffs a slice into his mouth, pacing the room thoughtfully. Three slices later he crosses to the stereo and turns it down. He dials the phone without looking at it. It rings.

"Hello."

"Magneto."

"Ah, Toad. Did you get my gift?"

"The pizza? Yeah."

"No, the pizza carrier. I know how you like to kill things when you're pouting."

"M'not pouting. I'm angry."

"Sure you are. That's why you've hidden yourself away in your hidey-hole,"

" 'Ow do you know where I am anyway?"

"Please, Toad, don't insult my intelligence. I make a point to keep track of all of our people. After all, we are called the _Brotherhood_. Where would we be if we didn't look after each other?" Toad selects another slice of pizza and shoves it in his mouth, refusing to say anything. Magneto sighs on the other end. "Think about it. You will still have a place here after you get done sulking-"

"'M not sulking." Toad interjects.

"Of course. And you didn't kill the idiot pizza boy when he called you green."

Toad frowns. Magneto can't be watching him now, can he? His eyes travel the room: the gigantic Wicked poster on the wall in its place of honor, the Ben and Jerry's "Chubby Hubby" containers littering floor, the lifesize self-made cut-out of Elphaba in the corner, the caricature of Wolverine on the wall with darts in it and the words "Logan is a shithead" carved into the wall above it.

"Err…you've never been inside my…" he can't bring himself to say 'hidey-hole.' "…lair, have you?"

"Of course not. I would never dream of invading you privacy like that."

Toad doesn't say anything in favor of finishing off the pizza.

"Mystique has agreed to apologize-"

"-A blue bitch who walks 'round spiky and naked don't have no right making any comments on anyone's _complexion_."

"-and she has been chastised. It won't happen again."

Toad scratches at the tears in the Wolverine dart board with a yellow fingernail. He's going to draw a new picture soon. He thinks the next one will involve Logan in a tutu. A flannel tutu.

"I'll think about it."

It's as good as a "see you next week" and they both know it.

"Alright, then. Good night, Toad,"

The phone clicks and Toad sets it down. He considers the room. The Brotherhood's lair is rather a lot nicer than this little flat. He doesn't think he'll cancel the rent, though. It's nice to have a place to his own, and Sabretooth would probably chew on his Elphaba cut out.

He'll start packing as soon as he finishes the last of the Chubby Hubby. There's another carton in the freezer.

"No good deed goes unpunished!" the stereo wails. It's Shoshana. She owns this song.

"Tell me about it, sweetheart."


End file.
